


I Wake Up Strange

by minkhollow



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Community: queer_fest, Gen, Pre-Canon, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-09
Updated: 2012-05-09
Packaged: 2017-11-05 01:55:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/401183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minkhollow/pseuds/minkhollow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing about knowing whenever someone's lying: If you're lying to yourself, sooner or later, you're going to figure that out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Wake Up Strange

**Author's Note:**

> Tapping the same well for queer_fest this year as I did last year (now with 100% more canon incorporation, as Steve actually has some this time!). While I see this story eventually ending up in a slightly different place, you can take it as the same continuity as The Viking Hordes, if you like. This year's prompt: _Any fandom, any character, "Not all trans guys were lesbians first, you know." A nonstandard (FtM) trans narrative._
> 
> Many thanks, as ever, to Neb for the beta-read.
> 
> I am not Syfy; I'm just borrowing because I wasn't done with this interpretation of Steve after all.

_And when you were born, they looked at you and said_  
 _'What a good girl, what a smart girl, what a pretty girl'_  
\--"What a Good Boy" - Barenaked Ladies

 

Theresa Jinks learns to swim the same day she learns she can tell if someone’s lying.

It’s been a long, hot summer, and she’s had her eye on the pool down the block the whole time, but her mom won’t get her go alone (or without being strapped into all kinds of floaty things), and her parents both work during the Y’s free lessons on Thursdays, and they say Livvie’s too young to walk her down by herself. It’s a Saturday in August, it’s too hot think, and it takes Theresa completely by surprise when her dad says they’re going for a walk down the block anyway – and then, when they get to the pool, he picks her up and throws her in the deep end.

She manages not to breathe in much water, and flails her way to the surface. By the time she gets to the edge of the pool, her eyes are burning, she’s got water up her nose, and her dad looks like he’s been laughing.

“Sorry about that,” he says, and Theresa doesn’t know what she’s seeing that she didn’t yesterday, but she knows he’s lying and it’s all she can think.

“No, you’re not! What if I didn’t make it to the edge?”

Her dad sighs, and helps her out of the pool. “If you’d looked like you were in trouble, I would have helped you out,” he says, and she relaxes a little when she sees – she still doesn’t know how – that that’s at least true. “But that’s how my dad taught me to swim.”

She’s still not happy about it, and after dinner, she goes to Livvie’s room and talks to her about the whole thing; when she gets to the part where she saw the lie, Livvie frowns.

“You didn’t tell Dad that, did you?”

“No,” Theresa says. “I yelled at him about it. But I didn’t tell him I knew.”

“Good. I... don’t think that’s something the grown-ups would like much. But I promise, Terry, I won’t ever lie to you. Well – okay, if you want me to help you figure out how it works, we can do that. But I won’t lie about the important stuff.”

Theresa smiles. “Thanks.”

***

Theresa’s mom says that she takes to swimming like a duck to water. She’s glad her mom likes that, since she doesn’t like that Theresa never wants to wear dresses, and keeps trying to get her Barbies for Christmas and her birthday, even after she tells her parents that she really wants a Nerf gun.

Livvie saves up all her birthday money and three months of allowance and buys Theresa the Nerf gun. She’s the best big sister a girl could ask for; she plays basketball with Theresa and lets her have the Barbies do daring pretend rescue missions and fends off the kids who think Theresa’s weird because she doesn’t like playing with the other girls.

She pretends it doesn’t bother her that the other kids her age don’t like her much – that she doesn’t really fit in – but Livvie calls her on it, and Theresa can’t not tell Livvie things. And, well, sometimes she does wonder why she can’t be normal.

Those times, Livvie hugs her and says, “You’re normal for you, Terry, and I for one wouldn’t have you any other way.”

Seriously, she’s the best big sister ever.

***

“I want to shave my head,” Theresa announces at dinner, one crisp October day in fourth grade.

Her dad raises an eyebrow. “Why would you want to shave your head?”

“Brandon has leukemia.” She cuts a bite of steak and – after her mom tells her to cut it into at least three smaller bites – adds, “His mom came in to tell us about it today and said his hair’s gonna fall out. So a bunch of us were talking about it at lunch and said he shouldn’t be the only bald kid in the school.”

Her mom frowns, but Theresa’s pretty sure her dad will be on her side in this; they’ve both been talking about Aunt Judy’s trips to the hospital lately, mostly when they think she and Livvie are asleep, and she knows she’s head the word ‘cancer’ in at least one of those conversations. She hates to think that’s what Aunt Judy’s up against, from what Brandon’s mom had to say.

“I don’t know,” her mom says, still frowning. “Your hair’s so pretty – are you sure you really want to chop it all off?”

“It’s hair, Mom,” Livvie points out (Theresa doesn’t know how Livvie keeps from rolling her eyes, but she wants to learn that trick). “It’ll grow back. I think Terry knows what she’s getting into.”

Theresa nods. “Besides, I’ve never had short hair before.”

“There’s short and then there’s—”

“Honey, they’re right,” her dad says. “Theresa won’t be alone any more than any of her classmates will, and it’ll grow out again. It can’t hurt to let her make a show of solidarity.”

Her mom still balks for a solid week about making an appointment; it’s not until Livvie threatens to get their dad’s shaving razor and do the job herself that she finally caves and calls the barber. When the barber’s done, Theresa can’t stop running her hands over her scalp and shaking her head, expecting the swing of her hair to follow, to the point where her mom tells her to stop before she gives herself whiplash. Somehow, she manages to contain her glee until after dinner, when she runs up to Livvie’s room.

“This is so cool!” she says, and Livvie laughs.

“I’m glad you like it so much, Terry. Just don’t tell Mom how much – you’ll completely freak her out.”

Theresa grins, and decides that once her hair grows back, she’s going to keep it as short as she can get away with.

***

In seventh grade, Theresa discovers the world of swimming as a sport, and falls in love. Not only is she good at it, but the pool seems to be the one place where people don’t really mind if she’s not a girly girl – in fact, when she wins a swim meet, she can’t help noticing that some of the people cheering for her are the same ones who avoid talking to her in class if they can help it because she’d rather read a book about the Civil War than a fashion magazine.

The irony burns a little, but Theresa can tune it out; after all, she’s not doing this for their benefit. She can hold her own in the pool and Brandon (safely in remission, now) even asks her to the Christmas dance, and for a while, she feels like a normal kid.

But even the pool can’t make her first period feel right. She’s exhausted and cranky and in pain, and it doesn’t get any better when she finds out she can’t wear a pad and swim. It makes sense, it really does – the thing won’t work in a pool – but it takes her three tries to get a tampon in, the first time she tries, and even then it feels all wrong in a way she can’t articulate.

She decides then and there she’s only ever going to use a tampon if she has to be in a pool. She’d rather stuff her underwear with toilet paper than go around school with one of those things in all day.

Her mom tries to give her tips on how to wear makeup and dress to de-emphasize her broad shoulders, but Theresa can’t stand makeup and doesn’t see why she’d want to hide all the hard work she does for her swimming. Livvie, ever more practical, takes her bra shopping three different times in a month (which, when it turns out her breasts swell a little the week before her period, is a much more brilliant idea than it sounds) and teaches her where to kick someone who doesn’t want to take no for an answer.

***

She doesn’t know what to call her thing with Brandon. She wouldn’t say they’re dating, but they definitely hang out a lot and they both seem to enjoy it, and when the swim team has a dinner at the end of the season, they sit together.

After the season ends, though, he gets a lot more awkward, to the point where if they even do hang out, they just sort of sit there and look at each other instead of talking until they’re late for class like they always have. Finally, one day near the end of the school year, while they’re waiting for their parents to come and get them, Theresa snaps.

“Look,” she says, “I feel like you’re avoiding me. What’s going on?”

“I wasn’t – I’m not...” Brandon sighs. “I’m not avoiding you. I just – I’ve been trying to figure something out and I didn’t want to hurt you.”

She’ll give him credit where it’s due; he’s not lying. “Okay. What is it?”

“Theresa...”

“Did it occur to you that it might hurt less if you just tell me – whatever it is that’s on your mind?”

Brandon sighs again, staring out across the school’s front circle. “I think I’m gay,” he finally says.

Theresa blinks. “Oh. Okay. So I guess we don’t have to figure out if we’re dating or not, then.”

“You – you don’t mind?”

“Hey, just because half the school would be wrong in thinking I’m a lesbian doesn’t mean I’m going to hate you for liking guys.”

Brandon grins, but before he gets a chance to say anything else, his mom pulls up; after he’s gone, Theresa sighs. She doesn’t hold it against him at all, but – well, she liked feeling normal while it lasted, and having a not-exactly-boyfriend was kind of part of that.

***

By the end of her freshman year of high school, Theresa has had two actual boyfriends in addition to whatever the thing with Brandon was (now, it’s a very good friendship). In that time, one of them has staged a breakup by way of coming out – after three weeks of thinking he was going to the school’s GSA meetings without Theresa noticing – and the other...

Well. She definitely hadn’t planned on walking into homeroom this morning to find her now ex-boyfriend making out with the JV quarterback, that’s for sure. It seems like half the cafeteria’s talking about it, and in a way, she can’t blame them; it’s more interesting than brushing up for finals or the fact that the baseball team can’t win a game to save their lives. Besides, even she’s talking about it, if in an entirely different context.

“I mean, okay,” she says, stabbing at her tater tots. “He likes guys. I’m cool with that. I’m not cool with him thinking he could lie to me about it.”

“Take it easy on those poor defenseless tater tots,” Brandon says. “And one of these days, you’re going to have to tell me how you figure liars out so fast.”

“Mike’s shorts might as well have been burning.” Theresa has yet to figure out how to explain it in her specific case – it’s like there’s a glint in someone’s eyes that tells her whatever they’re saying is total bull – but she didn’t even have to look Mike in the eye to know he wasn’t sorry and he didn’t understand why she minded so much. It was all right there in his voice.

“True,” Brandon says, muffled by his hamburger; after he swallows, he says, “Sorry. I didn’t know I was going to be a trendsetter.”

“Don’t blame you in the slightest, but – seriously, am I a magnet for gay guys or something?”

It’s a rhetorical question, but before it’s halfway out of her mouth, Theresa regrets saying it out loud; they’re in earshot of the cheerleaders’ table today, and of course Charity – who feels like she has a right to butt into everyone else’s business just because she’s a cheerleader – has to turn around and roll her eyes. “God, Theresa, maybe if you didn’t act like such a _boy_ you’d have a normal relationship.”

The words hit Theresa like a slap to the face. Before she can recover her composure enough to give Charity the verbal bitchslap she heartily deserves, Brandon turns around in his chair and says, “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize we were asking for your opinions on normality. Tell me, how many of your boyfriends know they’re not the only one in your life?”

Charity makes some impressive fish faces before turning back to her own table in a huff, and Theresa manages a small smile. “I can’t decide which of us she was trying to insult more.”

“Yeah, well.” Brandon shrugs. “Considering she’s stringing along half the JV football team, I think she’s not the expert on ‘normal relationships’ she likes to call herself. Don’t take it personally.”

***

Not taking it personally turns out to be easier said than done, though. Charity’s words don’t just stay with Theresa for the rest of the day; they’re still a nagging thought after the end of the school year. Even swimming, which is usually a great comfort (when it’s not that time of the month, anyway; Theresa still doesn’t like having to put up with tampons), doesn’t do the trick.

Something is very, very off, and Theresa can’t place what it is.

Theresa’s parents have long despaired that their younger daughter isn’t particularly girly, and that Livvie doesn’t exactly help them discourage that. But really, what’s wrong with a girl having short hair and liking guns and action movies more than fashion and cooking?

There’s nothing wrong with that, not these days, and Theresa knows that. Trying to act like most girls would be way more trouble than it’s worth and come off as entirely unnatural. But that in itself doesn’t seem to be the actual problem, if only based on the fact that Charity’s comment keeps right on being a nuisance.

Finally, the night before school starts again, Theresa stands in front of the bathroom mirror for a good five minutes, trying to pin down the problem.

Hair: not bad – not as good as the shaved-head experiment, in Theresa’s opinion, but as good as it’ll get short of that. Face: far from the worst in the world. Shoulders: sure sign of a competitive swimmer, and never once a problem. Breasts: on the small side, but between Theresa not really caring to emphasize them and the fact that they’re on the third member of the family to have a breast cancer scare, including Aunt Judy, that’s really not a problem.

So what is the problem? Not like this is the worst thing to ever happen to anyone.

“I’m happy with what I’ve got,” Theresa says to the mirror – and the answer’s right there in the reflection, same as it is in anyone else’s eyes.

_You’re lying._

Theresa slides down the bathroom wall and starts sobbing. A good twenty minutes later, there’s a knock on the door.

“Terry? You almost done in there?” It’s Livvie; that’s a small mercy. Theresa glances down, then pulls on a shirt, not bothering to reach for the bra.

“I... I have no idea.”

Livvie cracks open the door, peeks in, frowns, comes in, closes the door again and sits down on the floor. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s complicated.” But before Theresa can stop it, the whole story comes pouring out, everything from Brandon coming out through to Charity’s remark and the turmoil that’s followed it all summer.

“And I don’t know what’s going on and I don’t know what’s wrong with me and I don’t know how to make it stop and—”

Livvie, being the genius that she is, puts a stop to the rant by pulling Theresa into a hug.

“Oh, Terry,” she says, rubbing Theresa’s back. “I will help you get to the bottom of this, no matter how long it takes. And if we can’t make it stop, we’ll find a way to make it work. It’s going to be okay.”

Theresa starts crying again, but this time, it’s from relief.

***

That year doesn’t bring many answers, no matter how hard they try. Theresa focuses on swimming and tries to hash things out with Brandon – he just gets really confused, but he also doesn’t run screaming, which has to count for something. Livvie helps where she can, but she’s deep in the throes of her senior year, directing plays and running committees and setting up volunteer programs and applying to colleges.

But there’s this to be said: No matter how busy Livvie is, when Theresa needs to talk, whether it’s about homework or high school politics or the fact that being ‘Theresa’ feels more and more like being in a play where you don’t know the lines or fit the part but everyone expects you to carry the show to thunderous applause anyway with each passing day, she drops everything and listens.

It’s especially good because their parents, Theresa knows already, are so not an option for this kind of discussion. Knowing them, they wouldn’t even see why it was a point of contention.

Theresa’s a little afraid of what’s going to happen when Livvie goes to college, but when she does go, it turns out they carry on with business as usual; it’s just over the phone or through email, now. Mostly the latter, so Theresa doesn’t have to constantly keep an ear out for their parents.

Livvie gets involved in every group she can get her hands on, of course. One of those groups is the campus gay-straight alliance, which turns out to have much more to offer than just ‘gay’; she forwards a lot of what she learns to Theresa, who devours it all and follows a few more lines of inquiry with a little help from Google.

And Wikipedia, which, okay, it isn’t the most reliable source in the world, but even on a topic as contentious as this there has to be some kernel of truth to it, right?

All that information is a breath of fresh air, and by the time Livvie comes home for Christmas, Theresa has some idea of what to do with it. Fortunately, their parents have some last-minute shopping left to do, which means the two of them get the house to themselves to talk things over.

“So,” Livvie says, stirring a saucepan of cocoa on the stove – she’s always made it that way, since their mom would let her use the stove alone – “it sounded like I set you on the right path somewhere in there.”

“You could say that, yeah.” Theresa fishes some mugs out of the cabinet. “I think I’m gay.”

Livvie blinks. “Even though you’ve only ever had boyfriends?”

“Yeah, exactly. Closeted guys in denial seeing a butch girl who’s not a lesbian. But I’m not a butch girl, I’m a gay guy. Explains a lot.”

“When you put it that way, it really does. You know, I think this is the happiest I’ve heard you since that time you talked Mom and Dad into buzzing your hair.”

“Well, I definitely feel a hell of a lot better.” Theresa grins, but it doesn’t last long; the mention of their parents is a little bit of a moodkiller. “They’re gonna freak, aren’t they.”

“Well.” Livvie turns off the stove, and pours the cocoa into the mugs. “I kinda think the time to brace them for ‘congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Jinks, you have a son’ was seventeen years ago, yeah. They might eventually come around, but we’ll probably want to brace for the worst. But like hell if I’m backing out on you now.”

Theresa takes the mug that Livvie hands him, and can’t hold back a wry smile. “Considering you’re the one who told me I was normal no matter what I thought, I’d have to be a little disappointed in you if you did.”

“I’d be disappointed in me, too. You’re family, Terry. I love you, no matter if you’re my sister or my brother or – or something in between, or neither, or whatever.”

“Those are options?”

Livvie shrugs. “I don’t really understand it myself, but apparently they are. Anyway, you let me know when you want to talk to Mom and Dad, and I’ll be there.”

***

Knowing Livvie’s got his back makes it easier for Theresa to start planning for the inevitable blow-up. He’s already decided he’s not going to raise the topic with his parents until after graduation; that way, if things go as badly as he’s sure they will, he’ll at least be in the age of majority and able to just leave.

He applies to colleges out of state, for the most part. Livvie’s enjoying Haleford, and part of Theresa really wants to be in the same school as her again, but he figures it’ll be easier to just leave the area altogether. He also cobbles together as many scholarship applications as he can – well, except for the swimming ones. The thought of transitioning is getting more appealing every day, and he doesn’t know how the NCAA would take it; better to not have the scholarship in the first place than lose it.

And then, two weeks after he gets his acceptance letter from Rutgers – with enough financial aid attached that he can pull it off without that nagging ‘expected parental contribution’ business, if he needs to – Livvie gets fucking shot by some asshole gang members who don’t know how to keep their dick-measuring contests to themselves.

It’s not fair. He still needs Livvie; he’s been starting to suspect she’s the only hope of getting through the whole ‘so I’m a guy’ conversation with their parents and still being able to talk to them afterward – if not right away, then somewhere down the road. She can’t really be gone. Even the fact that the Baltimore police have the assholes responsible in custody by the day of the funeral doesn’t help.

Theresa’s never felt more alone in his life.

At the funeral Mass – maybe the third time Theresa’s actually been in a church since he was confirmed – two things become abundantly clear. First, if his mother’s going to respond to this by praying more than he can ever remember her doing, the conversation, whenever it happens, isn’t going to go well; second, that break is going to come sooner than later, since he can’t keep putting on this performance.

And he won’t, not a second longer than he has to, which leads to another consideration: If he wants to present at college, he’s going to need a name.

Terry isn’t really an option; that was always Livvie’s nickname for him, and it’s damn well going to stay that way. He can’t use his middle name – ‘Elizabeth’ may be known for its million or so nicknames, but for its masculine forms, not so much. He considers Andrew, playing off his confirmation name, but considering he’s been dissatisfied with the Church since not long after getting that option, that feels like cheating. A clean break is probably best, but to what, Theresa has no idea.

Livvie didn’t have a will (it’s not like she thought she’d need one), so he takes it upon himself to go through her stuff and see if there’s anything he wants. For the most part, their tastes didn’t really overlap, but he does slow down when he gets to her music collection. He can’t help feeling the only way to do it properly is to listen to it all.

He isn’t expecting to be figuratively punched in the gut halfway through a CD he dimly remembers Livvie asking their parents to buy for her – they refused on the grounds of the band’s name, and Theresa had thought that was the end of it; she must have bought it for herself later on. But the song does that all the same. It’s like they know exactly what’s going on in his head.

He digs out the CD’s liner notes, looks for the part with the band members’ names, and smiles.

He likes the sound of Steven.

**Author's Note:**

> ["What a Good Boy"](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_i0yZTeTZ4Q&ob=av2n) is many things to this story - the source of the title, the source of the epigraph and the source of the metaphorical gut-punching in the last scene. (It gets _me_ every time, if not for the same reasons.)


End file.
